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9. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. Squads reached to the very portal of that centre of disturbance. There was a black fear in his heart. . We'll have him yet. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad.
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